The Scheme
by dervishandbanges
Summary: Picture. If Hermione Granger - that used to be her name, right? - can't remember last night, it means...


**The Scheme**

"Holy shit, my head…"

"Huh, honey? Whaddichasay?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

She bends over him, kisses his forehead, he lets out a strange sound, she sighs. _Come on, you've done that hundreds of times. _She rolls out of the bed and falls on the floor.

He turns over and opens a sleepy eye.

"What are you doing?" he asks, or maybe he meant to. The words he lets out are sticky and incomprehensible.

"Oh, it's nothing" she repeats. She tries to stand up. Her legs are soft and her knees are bent, but finally, leaning over the wall and looking down on the floor, she is standing. She even manages to run her fingers through her messy, greasy hair, trying to make it look as casual as possible. Her ears are ringing and the water inside is going all crazy, running in circles; she feels the need to vomit, but she is unable to move any nearer to the bathroom. She stares emptily into the disgusting puddle between her feet. Suddenly she takes a few confident steps.

Bending over the sink, she cleans her mouth and her throat with water. Then she washes her face and wets her hair; suddenly she feels fresh and clear. She takes a look in the mirror and sighs deeply, then runs to the toilet to throw up again.

The flat is still silent and bright. She drinks what seems a liter of water from the tap that is still running; then, as if she was alone, she undresses and takes a cool shower.

Not bothering to dress up, she moves to the kitchen, droplets of water falling on the floor from her hair and drawing a path she has walked. It resembles a zigzag drawn by a child.

She doesn't know what to do right now, so she pours some cold tea from yesterday evening into a glass and drinks it. Her throat hurts while swallowing.

The glass slips from her fingers and crashes on the floor.

She doesn't know what to do again. She pulls on a grey t-shirt and panties and jeans and some shoes and she takes the dog outside.

The morning is beautiful and sunny, although the air is cold. The leaves on the trees have taken the wonderful colors of red and orange and brown and yellow and juicy green; the ones that already fell from the branches create a soft carpet on the ground. She can feel the wind on her face and in her hair and she can feel the dog's leash slide from between her fingers. The dog keeps close to her, running merrily and stopping from time to time to dig holes in the ground with its nose and with its paws. Finally, the dog runs away happily, the leash behind it like a narrow red snake.

"Oi! Granger!"

This used to be her name. She turns around lazily noticing someone running up to her waving his hand.

"Dear God, you look terrible" says the man. He laughs.

She blinks.

"I know" she says finally, her voice hoarse. Her throat hurts while speaking.

"How are you doing?"

"Fine" she shrugs. She blinks again. "where's the dog?"

"What dog?"

"I had a dog with me."

She looks at her hands.

"I was holding the leash" she explains, when he is not replying, "in my, um, right hand. I don't know. I'm so clumsy today."

"Hangover?"

"I s'pose."

"And I'm sure about that" he tilts his head.

"Huh?"

"You don't remember, do you?"

"No, hell, I don't remember anything from yesterday."

She is still looking at her hands. The ring on her finger feels out of place.

"I mean I'm sure I was at Ginny's" she says. "in the afternoon. She's pregnant, you see. Then I came home with Ron. Then we had a huge row and I went out."

"And then you met me" says the man.

"I did?"

"You did. And I drove you to my house, and you went all weeping about Weasley and stuff, and then we shagged. And then again. And then I drove you home. And we did have a drink – or two – or perhaps seven - in between all of this, so I guess that's why you look like a— the way you look. Seen yourself today, have you?"

She blinks a lot.

"I— do I know you from somewhere?"

He shrugs.

"It doesn't matter. Your dog is coming back."

"Oh."

He smiles weakly and she puts her hands down and they just keep standing in front of each other until he clears his throat, breaking the silence.

"I'm out anyway" he says, "my fiancée wants me to be at hers round ten. See you."

The way he pronounces the word "fiancée" is a kind of sarcastic and definitely not nice. He moves away, looking on the ground, and smiling. He is handsome and young and oddly familiar.

He pulls the hood of his grey coat over his whitish blonde hair and stuffs his hands into the pockets and walks away.

The dog comes back, waving its tail cheerfully. There's a dead sparrow between its jaws.

She grabs the leash and runs home, her cheeks red.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Reviews prevent heart attacks. Just saying. xd<em>**


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